


Le Chant d'Armour

by GwynDuLac



Series: Stand By Me [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gareth gives him one, Hurt/Comfort, I'm going to stop tagging things now, Idiots in Love, Lance has a shitty family, Lancelot needs a hug, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, POV First Person, Past Underage Sex, Unrequited Love, lots of angst as we can see, maybe slightly melodramatic, mentions of past underage pregnancy, not really as it turns out, sort of, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwynDuLac/pseuds/GwynDuLac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[updated summary]</p><p>Lancelot is King's Champion, but after being badly injured in a tournament he begins to fear that he is getting too old to do the job properly. Gareth has been training most of his life to be a Knight, and specifically to be the next Champion. When the opportunity to take up that mantle presents itself, however, he and Lancelot have a reckoning that has been a long time coming - Gareth has been in love with his mentor for years, and unbeknownst to him Lancelot feels the same. Naturally it isn't that easy though.<br/> </p><p> <i>“I swear to God, Lancelot,” snapped Gareth, “If just once more you say that you are old, I’ll - I’ll thrash you.”</i><br/><i>I turned to Look at him, fighting a smile. I could tell by his voice that he was teasing. “You wouldn’t,” I told him, confident that I was right. </i><br/><i>But Gareth crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn expression on his face. “Try me.”</i><br/><i>I laughed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Fine,” I shot back, “You couldn’t.”</i><br/><i>“Oh really?” </i></p><p> <br/>notes:<br/>1) please read the tags - there are mentions of past abuse and other unpleasantness<br/>2) title is a play on the "Le Chant d'Amour" by Burne-Jones</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeCouldPretend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldPretend/gifts).



> Well first of all, the working title for this story was "Gareth/Lancelot" which probably says something either about the subject of the story or about my inability to name things well. 
> 
> Second, this ended up with a lot more angst and rather less smut than intended. (The good news is that if I get my act together and finish typing my notes for this story, then this should be the first part of a longer fic - don't worry, it stands alone just fine or I wouldn't have posted it). 
> 
> Third, this is for WeCouldPretend because she's just moved away for a while and I miss her and this is one of her favorite stories of mine (or so I have been told). 
> 
> And finally, this is un-beta'd for the time being and only lightly edited because I'm lazy, tired, and leaving for vacation.

_ Oh shit.  _

Madoc’s sword arched down toward me and I scrambled ignominiously backward through the dust, losing my own weapon in the process. The prince’s blade bit the ground where my leg had been a moment before. I took advantage of the brief moment that he was off-balance to roll back to my feet, but Madoc was quicker than I had realized - or maybe I was just getting slow - for even as I turned to face him, his sword connected solidly with my side, biting through my armor, and I nearly fell again. This was not going well. 

Distantly, I could hear the crowd around us. They were cheering, but there was an undertone of shock. Madoc was grinning, confident now that he was sure I wasn’t luring him into a trap but was actually legitimately losing. It was a strange sensation; I had not come this close to losing a bout in a tournament since I was a boy of fourteen. I drew a deep, shaky, painful breath and put it all out of my head, devoted my whole attention to Madoc. 

The prince was grinning, advancing on me with quick, agile steps. I moved sideways, circling, trying to keep some space between us. I needed a plan and I need one  _ now _ . I had lost both sword and shield and since this was a tournament I had no other weapons about my person. Cador laughed and I skipped sideways - not back, never back, that would trap me against the fence - narrowly avoiding another wound. Still moving I chanced a glance around. My shield was far beyond my reach on the other side of the arena; my sword, however, was closer... 

Madoc nearly got me again and I realized that I would never be able to get past him to my sword - not in time anyway, not with the amount of blood I was losing from my side. It soaked my doublet beneath my breastplate and was rapidly spreading down my leg. Sweat ran down my back and neck and trickled into my eyes, stinging. The sun was glaring, it was hot, and my helmet was beginning to make me feel claustrophobic. I ripped it off, tossing it aside. The crowd gasped and I could practically hear Arthur cursing my foolishness. Madoc’s smile grew. Clearly, he thought I was giving up. Ha! If only he knew. I was raising the stakes for myself, and was rewarded by an instant rush of adrenalin: my vision sharpened, the pain receded, and burst of energy coursed through my limbs.  _ I don’t need a weapon _ , I reminded myself,  _ I  _ am  _ a weapon _ . 

The prince lunged again, obviously thinking to finish me off, but this time I twisted sideways, grabbed his wrist, and tugged, pulling him off balance, then threw my knee into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. But Madoc is young and strong - and apparently quite superbly trained - and I was definitely flagging by then, so he dropped and rolled and pulled me down with him before I could hop out of the way. We grappled for several interminable moments before an elbow to my injured side doubled me over in agony and Madoc seized the opportunity to wrap his arm around my neck in a crushing stranglehold. I squirmed and clutched at him helplessly as my vision dimmed.

_ Oh shit _ , I thought again,  _ I’m going to lose... _

_ Think! _ snapped a harsh voice in my mind, my old weaponsmaster’s voice. Christ! I hadn’t thought about that bastard in years.  _ Think! No matter what is going on around you, you must be able to think.  _ That  _ is what makes you a great warrior _ . 

So I thought. I put aside the pain and ignored my lungs screaming for air, and  _ thought _ . I couldn’t break Madoc’s hold, not in the shape I was in just then. Nor was I strong enough to do enough damage to get him to let me go...unless I had a weapon. At that point, my body reacted more quickly than my  mind could form clear thoughts: my hand found the hilt of Madoc’s sword - dropped when he had fallen - and slammed the pommel into his wrist once, twice, thrice! He yelped and gasped and loosed his hold enough that I was able to roll over, get up on one knee, and sweep the sword at his legs. He jumped and swore and landed awkwardly. By an effort of will I gained my feet, then brought the sword up. Madoc cried out as the blade entered his shoulder and he dropped to his knees. I laid the weapon against his throat. 

“Yield,” I managed, though just barely. 

“I yield,” whimpered my erstwhile opponent.

*  *  *  *

After the physician had fussed over me for a time, I sent him away, promising absently to rest, then I simply sat there on the edge of my bed, gazing at the wall. Over and over, I saw the fight with Madoc play out in my mind, remembered the exhaustion that had made my limbs feel like lead and the thought burning in my mind:  _ I can’t move fast enough! _ The simple fact was that I had found myself physically outmatched by someone my own size. It was disturbing in the extreme and made me reconsider several things. 

I didn’t go to dinner, but then, no one really expected me to, even though I had nominally won the tournament that provided the excuse for celebration. After the beating I had taken that afternoon I was supposed to be laid up in bed. There was a time when I would have been at that dinner regardless, by my king’s side as I ought as his Champion, but that was when I could still win a bloody tournament without hardly breaking a sweat. When had that changed, I wondered helplessly. Last fall I had been fine...I fell back into a sort of numb stupor and didn’t rouse myself until a voice intruded on my grim thoughts. 

“Lancelot?” I blinked at the sound of Guinevere’s sweet voice, but didn’t look up. Vaguely, I considered that I must have cut a properly pathetic figure with my elbows on my knees and my head hanging. “Lance?” her voice was terribly gentle now - gentle and concerned. “Lance, love what’s wrong?” Now I  looked up and saw her standing there, framed in the doorway, looking like an angel.  _ This  _ was what I was supposed to be protecting...And with that thought I came to a snap decision. 

“I need to speak with Arthur,” I said, standing. 

“Can’t it wait, Lance?” asked Guin carefully, “You’re supposed to rest...” I stayed silent and she understood. “Oh, of course it can’t wait,” she sighed to herself, then to me, “He’s in his study.” 

I moved through the royal suite slowly, stiff and favoring my wounded left side. I wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, but first I needed to put something to rest so that I could do so with a clear conscience. 

The door to the study stood slightly ajar, gold light spilling through the gap, but I knocked anyway. On this occasion I was going to see the King, not my friend. “Come in.” Arthur’s voice was rich and pleasantly deep. I gathered myself and limped into the room. It was one of my favorite places in the castle, warm and comfortable and easy to relax in. “Lancelot.” The King’s voice had a distinctly scolding tone, “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in bed. I thought Guin had just gone to check on you...” 

“She did, but...” I took a deep, steadying breath and aid firmly, “I need to speak with you, Sire.” 

_ That _ got Arthur's attention. He looked up sharply, fixing me with the full power of his striking blue eyes. “What’s wrong, Lance? You never call me that in private.” He looked at me narrowly, then gestured to a chair, “Sit. Talk.”

I lowered myself down cautiously and looked at Arthur across the cluttered top of his desk. His blond hair glowed golden in the firelight and shadows danced in the hollows below his cheekbones. He was beautiful.  _ This is what I must protect _ , I reminded myself. It gave me the strength to go on. “Sire...”

“Don’t.  _ Please _ don’t, Lance.”

I sighed, but gave in. “Arthur...I...I can no longer be you Champion.”

Arthur stared at me for a long moment, stunned into silence. When he recovered his voice his first words were, “Like hell!” 

“No, Arthur, listen to me.” I tried to be firm, to forestall some of his protests, but he wasn’t having any of it.” 

“Lance, what brought this on? Not today, certainly. You won!”

I shook my head. “I  _ barely _ won today, Arthur. And that’s - that’s beside the point. The point is...” I bit my lip. I really didn’t want to say this, to admit it outloud, but I had to. “Madoc isn’t better than me, Arthur - he’s  _ younger _ . I couldn’t keep up.”

“Lance, you are by far the best swordsman-”

“I’m forty, Arthur,” I said harshly, but it felt good to get it out in the open, “I”m forty. I haven’t been a young man for a long time.” 

The King looked at me in surprise and I watched him thinking, calculating, until finally he came to the same conclusion. “Christ, Lance...where did all those years go?” I shrugged. I had half expected this reaction; I made a point of  _ never  _ celebrating my birthday, so it didn’t surprise me in the least that my best friend had so easily lost track of how old I was. But now he did know, and there could be no doubt that I was notably older than most of the ranking knights - at least, older than those who still fought regularly rather than just wearing the title as a mark of rank. But I was the Champion. That wasn’t an option. Recognizing this, Arthur tried a different tact. “That’s all but irrelevant, Lance,” he told me, putting his feet up on the desk. Guin would scold him if she came in, I thought absently. “You’re the most talented swordsman I’ve ever met.”

“Save yourself and Gawain,” I added, a little bitterness creeping into my voice. In reality, Arthur was only my equal on a good day, and we had both long ago accepted that Gawain was better than either of us; he wasn’t competitive like we were so it never really came up. Why was it that suddenly I minded? 

Arthur was shaking his head. “Lance, you can’t do this, you can’t abandon me-” oh, that was a low blow, “-there’s no one to take your place.” He thought that was his trump card. I could see it in his eyes; he knew I would never leave him without a Champion, without someone to guard his back every moment, someone he could trust implicitly with Guin’s well being, state secrets, and his own thoughts and musings. He thought he had me with that one, but he was wrong.

“I’ve been training Gareth for this very thing for years. He’s smart, intelligent, knows how to keep his mouth shut, he’s a brilliant swordsman even though he doesn’t flaunt it, his loyalty is without question since he has no familial ties-” Gareth was peasant-born, so we didn’t need to worry about his loyalty being divided between the King and his own blood “-and he’s in the prime of his life. He’s perfect, Arthur.” 

The King just stared at me, almost more taken aback now that when I had first begun this conversation. “My god,” he murmured finally, “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Deadly,” I replied stonily. It was, I reflected, an appropriate choice of word for the situation. If I wasn’t capable of protecting Arthur and Guin - of keeping them alive - then I had no right to be King’s Champion. 

Arthur gazed at me for a long time, then sighed heavily and rose. He went to the door and I heard him tell a page to fetch Sir Gareth. My heart twisted unpleasantly. This was really happening. I was voluntarily giving up my very purpose in life.  _ You’re doing what you have to _ , I reminded myself, thinking again of my friends’ lives in my hands. I could - and had - accepted it so long as I remembered that. 

We didn’t speak during all the long minutes - it felt like years - that we waited for Gareth to appear. That was fine with me; I had plenty on my mind to keep me occupied. In fact, I couldn’t help but think about Gareth and that day, almost exactly 15 years ago now, that we had first met. He had been a boy of eight then who had innocently stumbled - literally - into Arthur and I in the market near a small town east of Camelot. Peasant stock Gareth may have been, but he had heart. He had been visibly daunted by us in our armor and carrying our fine swords, wearing more gold than he had seen in his lifetime. (I also found out later that he had caught a glimpse of Arthur’s signet ring and immediately surmised that this was indeed the King himself). But he didn’t run away, didn’t even stammer. Instead, he had apologized with great aplomb and courtesy. When Arthur, who always did have a soft spot for children and so of course struck up a conversation with the lad, asked what he dreamed of being ‘when he was big,’ Gareth had replied seriously, “I wish to be a Knight of the Realm, sir.” 

He had clearly expected us to laugh at him as so many others had, but he said it anyway and he obviously meant it. I suspect that was what got to Arthur, for he offered then and there to take Gareth on as a page. Two years later, he became my squire - the only I had ever taken - and I quickly realized that he was perfectly suited to  _ my  _ job and so began training him. That is also why, when he was knighted six years ago -  _ God _ , could it really be  _ six years _ ? - I had continued to mentor him. I wasn’t entirely sure why he allowed it, unless he had surmised that I had an ulterior motive. Or perhaps it was simply that association with me (and, by extension, the King) conferred a great degree of prestige which he, lacking noble blood of his own, needed around the Royal Court. 

Just as I reached this point in my musings, a knock sounded on the door and the young man in question entered. Gareth is often mistaken for one of the Orkney brothers. That is, he looks rather like he belongs to Gawain’s family and Gawain, bless him, never disabuses anyone of the notion. I would bet a third of the people at Court honestly believe that Gareth is one of Arthur’s nephews. His red-blond, slightly wavy hair, high cheekbones, and confident air certainly reinforce the image. Especially that last for, though Gareth (like the Orkney boys) is rather small for a fighting man, he holds himself with great assurance. I happen to know that it comes from his skill, not from bloodlines or misplaced pride, but the overall impression is the same. 

Gareth is also handsome. Nearly every woman in Camelot, regardless of age, marital status, or rank flirts and simpers at him. It’s positively disgusting. At least Gareth seems to be entirely unaffected by the attention. In fact, I know he often finds it annoying. I like to think that the learned that from me for, I must admit, even now women seem to find me attractive. However I seriously doubted that Gareth’s apparent indifference stemmed from the same cause as mine. Unfortunately. 

I pointedly turned my mind from that line of thought and focused on Arthur, who was just clearing his throat uncomfortably.  “So sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Sir Gareth, but there is something we wish to speak with you about and I’d rather not put it off.” Gareth did not look the least bit concerned by this statement, though I reckon most men, regardless of status, would have been shifting uncomfortably after being called the the King’s private study at this unholy hour of the night - no, morning now - to be met with such a vague statement. “Please, sit,” added the King, acquiring a firmer grasp on his composure. Gareth took the seat to my left, also facing Arthur’s desk. 

“My lords,” he said with a little nod, “How may I be of service?” Always unfailingly polite, that’s Gareth. Not that he doesn’t know how to relax and have fun - he does - but his default is perfect, unbothered courtesy. It can actually be a bit unnerving at times. And I’ve never been able to decide if I find it more disconcerting, amusing, or refreshing in contrast with most of the rest of the Court. 

Arthur finally took his feet off of his desk, then leaned forward a bit and looked at us both intently, as though searching for something - perhaps my sanity? - before turning to Gareth and saying simply, “Lancelot has informed me that he has been grooming you to someday take his place as King’s Champion.” 

The young man looked at me sharply, mouth slightly open in surprise, before regaining his usual calm countenance. “I...I am honored,” he said slowly, “However, may I ask what brings this up now?” See, like I said, sharp as a tack. 

“I would like you to take my place,” I informed him, “ _ Now _ . I feel i can no longer fill the position adequately-” Arthur winced at that, but I managed to keep my tone even and continue, “-and you are the only one suitable for the job.” 

“I won’t do it,” he said firmly, rising in one quick motion before turning hurt eyes to me, “I refuse. So I guess you're stuck for a while longer.” 

I was about to disabuse him of that notion - colorfully - but Arthur jumped in with a surprisingly reasonable question. “Why? Why won’t you, Gareth? And please, sit.” 

Gareth pointedly remained standing and replied directly to me, a breach of courtesy the likes of which I had never seen him make. “I won’t take your place because you shouldn’t give it up - I won’t let you. You are the best, you are the only one really fit for the position, and because I quite simply don’t want it.”

I was completely taken aback. Gareth  _ never  _ spoke like that, especially not to me. And he wasn’t done. “Lancelot, you have twice the experience of most the men out there and many times the skill-”

“I can’t keep up anymore, Gareth, I’m not strong enough,” I protested, finally getting a word in edgewise. 

My former squire gave me a scathing look. “So maybe you don’t have the endurance that you used to. Fine. Adapt. That’s what you taught me. If you find that you can’t do something, you  _ adapt _ . Well, I guess that’s what you need to do. Fight smarter so that you don’t tire yourself out.” 

Now it was my turn to gape, speechless. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had told me off like that. Even  _ Arthur _ hadn’t ever done that. I opened my mouth to retort, mentally lamenting the fact that I couldn’t jump to my feet and shake him by his shirt-front. But then I shut it again, because Gareth was right damn it. I would have - and had - told him the same thing when teaching him to fight bigger and stronger opponents, when teaching him to fight injured, and in half a dozen other cases too I was sure.

“Well that settles that for the moment,” said Arthur, rising, “Gareth, I will freely admit that I would feel better knowing that you were willing to  _ someday _ take Lance’s place, but I respect your decision not to at the moment -  _ for  _ the moment.” Gareth nodded once, tacitly giving his assent. I huffed bad-temperedly, but Arthur just have me a Look he had learned from Guinevere as he added, “For the time being, you are stuck being my Champion, and I for one am quite pleased by that.” I narrowly refrained from grumbling; I still thought that they were both wrong. “Now,” continued Arthur, returning his attention to Gareth, “I would appreciate it if you would see to it that Lancelot rests - as he has been instructed to do several times now. I must go meet with the Lord Marshall; something urgent seems to have come up - don’t look like that, Lance. It’s something to do with the bookkeeping, not an actual threat. Gareth, you don’t mind...?” 

“Of course not, Sire,” agreed Gareth with another nod.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snapped. I sounded petulant and I knew it, but I had had a remarkably bad day and I really, really didn’t want to be around Gareth of all people just then. But of course, I didn’t get a say. 

“I think you do,” the King informed me in no uncertain terms, “So you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Can’t it be Guin...?” I whined. Yes, I whined. Pathetic, I know. It convinced me to backtrack and accept my fate as graceful as I could. 

Muttering playful threats at me, Arthur excused himself and went off to this semi-emergency meeting (which I was still more than half convinced I ought to be at at). I rose as quickly as I was able - actually, I  _ was  _ beginning to feel a bit better - and turned to the door. “Don’t even think about it,” admonished Gareth. Damn him, he knew me too well.

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked innocently (I really don’t pull that off very well), “I was just going to go down to the kitchens and get something to eat since I missed dinner.”

“Can’t you just send for something?” He asked, sounding suddenly rather tired himself and it occurred to me that he might not be any happier about this arrangement than I was. But that didn’t change my response - or improve my mood any.

“No,” I said uncompromisingly, then turned on my heel and stalked out. Gareth, predictably, trailed after me.

It was a long way down from the royal suite, high in one of Camelot’s graceful towers, to the kitchens on the ground floor. But at this hour of the night the corridors were all but empty so I didn’t mind taking my time a bit and I knew the destination would be worth it. 

“Lance...” began Gareth uncertainly as we descended one of the many flights of steps, “I...” I didn’t stop and I didn’t encourage him. I knew he’d spit it out when he was ready. A few moments later, the younger Knight tried again. “I want you to know that I  _ am  _ honored that you...that you think I could be King’s Champion.”

I swallowed a snarky retort and replied honestly, “You really are the only one I would trust to do it.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, and then we descended into silence. 

All through our late supper in the kitchens we didn’t speak, and I fell gradually back into my earlier depression. Or sulk might be a more appropriate word at this point. Before I was depressed. Now, although there was still a distinct undertone of that, I was just sulking. I grumbled and muttered the whole way back up to my rooms, and I could fairly feel Gareth’s growing irritation with me. 

“Arthur’s wrong to keep me as his Champion,” I huffed as we entered the royal suite, “I am too-”

“I swear to God, Lancelot,” snapped Gareth, “If just once more you say that you are old, I’ll - I’ll thrash you.”

I turned to Look at him, fighting a smile. I could tell by his voice that he was teasing. 

“You wouldn’t,” I told him, confident that I was right. But Gareth crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn expression on his face.

“Try me.”

I laughed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Fine,” I shot back, “You  _ couldn’t _ .”

“Oh really?”

I wasn’t entirely sure if we were still teasing, but I was feeling reckless, so I taunted, “I’m  _ old _ Gareth, and there’s nothing you can do to keep me from saying it.”

“Just once more...” he threatened.

I smirked. “I’m o-” I didn’t even get the whole word out of my mouth before Gareth’s hand shot out, grasped my wrist, and spun me around. I reacted purely on instinct drilled into my from years upon years of training, fighting to gain the upper hand. I twisted to take away his leverage and hooked my foot around his ankle. We toppled to the ground in an untidy heap. 

“I’ll teach you to sulk after winning a tournament,” Gareth growled in my ear. Some part of my brain that apparently had absolutely nothing better to be doing noted that I  _ really _ liked that tone of voice. 

“You bastard,” I retorted, half laughing. 

With a smile in his voice, Gareth mocked, “Oh come on, you can do better than that.”

Our insults may be been playful, but our wrestling was  _ not _ . Gareth was going to have bruises in the morning. And I didn’t even want to think about what I was doing to my own abused body. It didn’t really hurt because of the adrenalin coursing through me, but I knew I’d pay the price later. I’d pay more than Gareth would and that just made me all the more determined to beat him. 

Finally, with a twist which wrenched every sore muscle on the left side of my body, I rolled over and pinned Gareth down with my slightly greater weight, gripping his wrists and pressing them to the floor beside his head. We lay like that for a long moment, panting and regarding each other closely. Something in Gareth’s eyes made me think that I wasn’t the only one reluctant to move. 

As we stayed there, suspended in the moment, it dawned on me gradually what Gareth had just done. He had goaded me into a fight so that I proved to myself that I could best the one person I thought capable of taking my place. The little bastard, I thought with grudging respect. 

Slowly and with no small amount of wincing we finally disentangled ourselves and sat up. I started to say something to tacitly cede the victory to him and Arthur, but a look of horror on Gareth’s face made me pause. He got quickly to his knees and reached out as thought to touch my side. I glanced down and saw blood on my shirt. See,  _ this  _ is why I usually wear black. 

“Oh God, Lance, I’m so sorry...I didn’t even think...”

“Ach, it’s nothing,” I assured him. But when I tried to rise I gasped in pain and Gareth had to catch me to keep me from falling as the room spun disconcertingly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, sounding close to tears. I shook my head, my way of telling him that it wasn’t his fault. “Come on,” murmured Gareth, taking more of my weight, “You need to lie down and then I’ll send for a physician.”

“I don’t need-”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted, “And I’m not arguing with you about it, so there.”

I wondered vaguely when Gareth had developed such an attitude. Where had my sweet little squire gone? A moment later, however, I saw him again as he lowered me slowly into an armchair and began very gently to help me remove my shirt; his expression was one of deep, genuine concern and my heart warmed a little. Yes, I admit, sometimes I feel rather unloved. The Court keeps me at arms’ length because they are afraid of me; the other knights had their own little friendly groups of which I had never really been a part; and Arthur was want to get distracted with Guinevere. And of course I have absolutely no family worth the name, no lover...

I tried to push such depressing thoughts from my mind and was actually almost relieved when Gaius, the Court Physician, arrived to distract me. Gaius is a sweet old man who can cure practically anything but tends to neither know nor care about anything else going on around him. Undoubtedly, he was totally unaware of the tension crackling between Gareth and I as I sat back obediently in the chair, feeling oddly vulnerable. Oddly, because it wasn’t as bad a feeling as it ought have been. 

Gaius unwrapped the now-blood-soaked bandages and tut-tutted quietly, “Do I dare ask what you’ve been up to to cause this?” he asked of no one in particular. 

“I fell...” I lied, casting Gareth a quick glance before looking away again. God, why did Arthur have to ask  _ him _ to keep an eye on me? And how in the name of all that’s holy did he contrive to look so innocent and adorable? Just then, Gaius prodded a particularly sore spot and I gasped, “Ow!”

He ignored me. “And just what were you doing when you fell - oh stop squirming!” I huffed, but forced myself to stay perfectly still - and didn’t deign to respond. 

Before he left, Gaius gave me something which he said would help with the pain - and  _ insisted _ I drink it or I absolutely would not have done so - then firmly admonished Gareth to “get him into bed and keep him there.” And the old man, bless him, never saw that we both blushed at his words. 

When he was gone, Gareth flashed me a teasing grin. “Orders are orders...”

I think he expected me to protest or warn him to be polite, but I just let him help me to my feet. The world tilted on a strange axis and I leaned heavily on my former squire. He took my weight easily, wrapping one strong arm around my chest to support me and pulling my arm over his shoulders. I relaxed against him a little more. That damn medicine was fogging my mind and, though I hated to admit it even to myself, I was enjoying Gareth’s nearness. Surprisingly, he didn't seem to mind. 

In the end, he all but carried me back to my own room. I felt him lay me gently back on the bed and again experienced that strangely pleasant helpless sensation. I was completely at Gareth’s mercy - and I liked it. Luckily, I was too far gone to blush, Gaius’ concoction made sure of that.  I lay passive as Gareth carefully removed my boots, then covered me with a soft blanket. As the warmth spread through me I sighed contentedly and relaxed. I would be asleep soon, I knew. 

“How do you feel?” asked Gareth, sitting down beside the bed. 

“Tired,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry you got stuck doing this. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gareth assured me, with a part teasing, part sweet smile, “I don’t mind. In fact...” He paused and reached out to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair out of my eyes before continuing, “I’m rather enjoying myself. I stared up at him, half convinced that I had heard wrong - or that I was imagining the whole thing. Gareth laughed gently, eyes dancing with emotions I hardly recognized. “Go to sleep, Lance,” he said softly, and, despite my best intentions, I did just that. 

*  *  *  *

Blood filled my mouth, choking me. The taste overwhelmed my other senses as I tried to work out what was happening. I was lying on a battlefield, and arrow in my chest. Around me were the bodies of my comrades, Kay, Gawain, Tristan...Some paces away, Arthur was fighting for his life - and I was powerless to help him.  _ Good-for-nothing runt! _ I winced as my weaponsmaster’s voice filled my head. It seemed to reverberate through my skull, burning the words into my mind.  _ Useless, clumsy brat! You’ll never be a warrior! _ I wanted to shrink away, but there was no where to go; the taunting was in my own mind, and that only made it worse. 

Arthur stumbled, went down on one knee, bleeding profusely from his shoulder.  _ Come on! Get up!  _ my weaponsmaster goaded me,  _ I  _ told  _ you they’d die because of you... _ I whimpered, tears springing to my eyes.  _ Pathetic! What are you? A blushing maiden?  _ Don’t cry!  _ If you cry, I’ll beat you... _ I fought to swallow the tears, even though I knew at heart that he was right; my friends were dying because of me. Arthur was dying because of me. And then, quite suddenly, it wasn’t Arthur, but  _ Gareth _ on his knees, struggling for breath, bleeding and dying on that gruesome field. I cried out,  _ screamed _ . God. Oh God, not Gareth, please...

“Lance!  _ Lancelot! _ ” My eyes snapped open. Gareth was leaning over me, concern etched on his face. The sight of him, alive and well, was too much on top of everything else. I began to sob helplessly as the horror of the nightmare washed over me. Again and again I heard my weaponsmaster’s rough bark, heard the taunts and insults, all things he had actually said to me while I was training under him. I don’t remember how many times he told me that people would die if I didn't do better. Enough that I came to believe him. And to see Gareth like that, to think he might die because of me...

I felt Gareth’s arms around me, felt his warmth and his strength as he murmured comforting words into my ear and stroked my hair. No one had ever done that for me before, and that realization broke me completely. 

I don’t know how long I laid there, crying into Gareth’s shoulder, but finally, finally, the tears subsided and my breathing returned to normal. And still he held me and comforted me. I was so ashamed - my weaponsmaster had given me a rather low opinion of crying - but Gareth didn’t seem at all bothered. I loved him for that. But then, I loved him for a lot of things, so I supposed I could just add that to the ever-growing list. 

“I’m sorry,” I managed after a long time. My choice was hoarse and weak. Pathetic. Really pathetic. 

“Shh,” soothed Gareth, still stroking my hair, “It’s alright, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“What must you think of me?” I asked miserably, still without raising my head, to afraid of what I’d see in his eyes. This boy - I still occasionally thought of him like that, I couldn’t help it - had been my squire. I had taught and mentored him; I was supposed to be the strong one, not him. 

“I think you’re human,” he replied gently. We descended into silence for several long minutes before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was soft and coaxing and a little sad. “Care to tell me?” It was more of an offer than a question.

I opened my mouth to say ‘no’...and instead told him all of it, not just the dream, but stories of my weaponsmaster and my father - two of the cruelest and coldest men I had ever known. By the time I was talked out, it felt like I had cried more in one night that I had in my whole life, and Gareth knew more about my past than anyone, including Arthur. But at least by the end I was convinced that Gareth wasn’t about to disappear on me or dismiss me. If this night hadn’t lowered his opinion of me or frightened him away then I was willing to believe that he cared about me. I fell asleep in Gareth’s arms, my head on his shoulder and his fingers tangled in my hair in a way that was considerably more than friendly. It felt wonderful. 

I am a very light sleeper and this night was no exception. I woke as soon as Gareth slipped out of the bed. My eyes were sore and I had a slight headache - what I get for bawling like a child - but I felt strangely good, like I was wrapped in gauze, protected from the world. Even the sight of Gareth leaving me didn’t hurt. “Are you going?”

“No” he replied, favoring me with a gentle little smile, “But I’m sick of sleeping fully dressed.”

“Oh.” I didn’t feel the need to say anything more.

I watched as Gareth sat down on the single chair in the room - a simply wooden affair - and removed his boots, the same tall cavalry boots that we all wore but which looked particularly flattering on him. Then Gareth stood and stripped off his quilted black doublet. His grey shirt followed and I had to suppress a smile at the sight of him. Giving me a sultry look - I would have bet on hell freezing over before Gareth looked at me like that! - he crawled onto the bed and under the blanket with me. I smiled uncertainly up at him, unsure if this was actually what I thought it was. Gareth certainly cared about me - he’d demonstrated that during our long conversation - but still. Gareth smiled confidently back at me and trailed his fingers up my bare chest. I shivered pleasantly, but blushed. Christ, what had gotten into me tonight? It had been years since I had cried or blushed and now I had managed to do both in the space of a few hours. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Asked Gareth, “It’s been a rough day. I want you to be sure...” 

The question caught me by surprise, and it took me a moment to fully process it. I considered - but only briefly because I had wanted this for  _ far  _ too long - then shook my head. “Don’t stop.” 

Gareth kissed me then, lightly,  but it was enough to make me forget completely how to breathe. When he drew back a few heartbeats later I was left gasping quietly. We stared at each other for a long time, assessing what we had each just realized about the other. I actually found my voice first. “How long...?” I whispered.

“I was fourteen,” replied Gareth just as quietly, his eyes very wide and a little too bright.

“My God...all this time and I didn’t know...” It made me a little sick to just thinking about it, all those years he’d loved me with no idea that I felt the same. 

“I always thought you were in love with the King...” His astuteness shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. A little. 

I shook my head again. “Not like that,” I told him truthfully, “I love him, but I don’t  _ desire  _ him.”  _ Not anymore at least _ , I added mentally.

“Do you desire me?” The boldness of the question caught me off guard by my blush - Christ,  _ again _ ! - answered for me. Gareth chuckled deep in his throat, a low, suggestive sound, not unlike his earlier growl. I closed my eyes in silent pleasure. A moment later, I felt Gareth’s lips touch my neck and I gasped.  _ What has gotten into me tonight? _ I never did manage a coherent response to his question, which I suppose was answer enough. 

We kissed for a while longer and I found myself wondering at Gareth’s confidence. He obviously knew what he wanted. By comparison, I felt...I felt like the younger of the two of us, uncertain and literally trembling. The fact that my wounds held me mostly immobile wasn’t helping any, for I could do little more than run my fighters up and down his smooth back, tracing the lines of hard muscle. Gareth had filled out so nicely; he used to be such a scrawny little thing. 

When Gareth’s roving hands encountered the bandage around my midsection, he drew back. “What’s wrong?” I asked, a little nervous that I had done something wrong. 

“You’re wounded. I...I don’t want to hurt you...” He shifted back further. I reached up, wincing slightly as stiff muscles protested, and pulled him back down. I didn’t want him to leave. Not now.  _ Not ever _ . “But Lance...” Gareth protested weakly. 

I held his head tenderly, fingers tangled in his hair, so that I could look him in the eyes. “You won’t hurt me,” I told him confidently. 

“You trust me?”

“Of course.”

Gareth grinned down at me, eyes dancing, and we kissed again, more passionately this time. His hand slipped around behind my neck, cradling my head tenderly. “Can I ask you something?” he breathed in my ear. It tickled. 

“Anything,” I sighed.

“When was the last time you were with someone?” 

I think it surprised him when I replied without a pause. “Too long,” I mumbled, kissing him again. “You?”

“Don’t tell me that you think I’m...” Gareth sounded a tad horrified.

I laughed at him. “Oh no, I can tell you’ve done this before.”

This time it was Gareth who blushed - finally! “I-I’m not...I mean...Lance...”

I took pity on him and stroked his hair back from his face, smiling kindly. “I’m glad,” I told him honestly, “I feel less guilty this way.”

“You feel guilty?” Gareth seemed very concerned.

“I...” I considered, gazing up at that wonderful, sweet face of his. “I want to stop thinking.”

“You trust me?” he repeated seriously, looking deep into my eyes. 

“Always,” I said simply. 


	2. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot and Gareth have managed to admit their feelings for each other (more or less), though naturally it can't be quite as easy as that. More angst, but it all works out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, wonder of wonders, I actually managed to edit this today and have wifi with which to post it! Enjoy!

I woke in a blissful haze the next morning. Golden sunlight filtered through the curtains, telling me that it was much later than  I usually  got up. I didn’t care; I already knew that I would be lucky to make it out of my own room today after the beating I had taken in the tournament. I needed rest and I needed it badly - especially since I hadn’t gotten as much last night as I had expected to...I smiled and rubbed Gareth’s back lightly. He was curled up against my uninjured side, head pillowed on my shoulder, one hand resting just above my heart. He stirred at my touch and nuzzled the side of my neck and mumbled something unintelligible. “G’morning sleepyhead,” I teased gently, trailing my fingers up his spine to the nape of his neck. He shivered and snuggled closer, murmuring my name. I wished I wasn’t hurt so that I could hold him properly. 

I started when the door opened suddenly to reveal Guin. She took in the scene at a glance while I tried to grapple with the utter embarrassment which swept over me. “Well,” she said with a not unkind smirk, “I suppose I should tell Arthur that you two are indesposed at the moment...” And then, before I could do more than gape helplessly, she was gone again. Gareth sat up and glanced from the door to me and back.

“Was that...?”

“Yes,” I groaned, “That was Guin.” 

“Well...it could have been worse...I don’t think she’ll tell...” He sounded painfully uncertain. 

“She won’t,” I assured him, “She’ll just tease  mercilessly.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” I told him, reaching out to absently trace a scar on his arm. “She’s known about me for years and she’s never let on. If anything, she’s helped me keep people from guessing. She just teases.”

Gareth looked at me curiously. “That’s why the King trusts you with her, isn’t it? Because he knows...”

“He knows that I can never be more than her friend,” I finished for him, nodding. 

“And does Guin trust you with Arthur?” Gareth teased gently, lying back down and propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at me with a raised eyebrow. 

I laughed. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“Why ‘surprisingly’?” I blushed faintly and tried to distract him by caressing his shoulder, but it didn’t work. “Come on...what aren’t you telling me?” 

_ Oh hell,  _ I thought _ , This is nothing compared to some of what I told him last night _ . 

“When we were much younger, before Arthur knew he was in line for the throne, we...”

Gareth started at me, wide-eyed. “You’re joking.” I shook my head, chuckling a little at his reaction. “And the Queen knows?” I nodded. “I...I  just can’t imagine Arthur...”

“He was very different before he knew he might be King, more light-hearted, a little wild....”

Gareth accepted that explanation and moved on. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

I smiled back. “I was about to say the same.”

Gareth rolled easily off the bed and I made to sit up, only to gasp and sink back against the pillows as agony shot through my body. I had definitely over-done it and now I was paying the price. 

“Lance, are you alright?” 

There was fear in Gareth’s voice and I managed a weak chuckle to reassure him. “Fine. I’m fine. Just sore...”

Gareth brushed his fingers across my forehead lightly, a sweet little caress. “I don’t believe that for a moment. You need to lie still and rest today.”

“But-” I began to protest, but a glare from my lover - wow that was a strange thought - silenced me. 

“But nothing. I’m sure the King will give me the day to take care of you.” 

I groaned. “I do not need to be...to be  _ babied _ .” 

“Oh really?” asked Gareth, sitting down on the edge of the bed and placing a calloused hand on my bare chest. Well, maybe I could stand it for a day....

Gareth sent for food, but told the page just to leave it in the outer room. I think he gave the excuse that I was resting, but truth be told I was in no shape to argue, so I didn’t. I tried to sit up again in an attempt to regain some semblance of dignity, and Gareth threatened to tie me down. I was just debating whether or not it was worth testing his seriousness - and thinking that the idea of Gareth tying me to a bed really wasn’t that unappealing - when the food arrived and no doubt saved me further indignity. But then there was the trouble of eating. It was now an established fact that I couldn’t sit up without enduring unreasonable amounts of pain (that’s what I get for tearing stitches out of my side, apparently), so instead I found myself in the supremely unpleasant position of being propped up very slightly on pillows and fed. Humiliating. Even if it was Gareth feeding me. He was gentle and patient and stroked my hair at every opportunity, but I still didn’t like it and grumped and muttered through the whole meal. I was also exhausted, however,  and began nodding off before poor Gareth had even gotten half a bowl of stew into me. He made me eat a little more, then kissed my forehead - still not sure how I feel about that - and told me to sleep. For once, I did so without argument. 

 

This time I woke to voices and I kept my eyes closed to spare myself the indignity of being forced to hold a conversation with someone while I was stuck lying helpless in bed. 

“You’ve been with him all night.” Arthur’s voice. Not a question. 

“Yes, Sire,” replied Gareth evenly. I was impressed. 

“You can stop calling me that, Gareth,” the King admonished gently, “My name is Arthur.”

“If you insist, Sire.”

“I do.” Silence for a moment, then Arthur spoke again. “Guin told me,” he said simply.” 

I could picture Gareth’s face as he stammered, “I - she...Sire....”

Arthur laughed gently. “No need to look so horrified, Gareth, I’m not bothered by it. In fact, I’m glad. Lance needs someone.” 

Well now I was definitely keeping my eyes closed. I had no wish to be included in this discussion. And...maybe I was just a bit curious too.

“I know,” Gareth agreed, much to my surprise, “I’ve lived with him long enough to know that he’s not the lone wolf he pretends to be. He needs someone...” he trailed off. 

After a long moment, Arthur carefully completed the sentence. “He needs someone to love him, in spite of everything. And Guin and I can only give him so much.” A pause, then, “Do you love him, Gareth?”

His reply, whatever it was - oh how I wished I dared open my eyes and see! - was not verbal. Another moment of silence, then, “He...he said you two were close...”

“We are,” agreed Arthur, “Always have been. What do you know of his past?”

“Quite a bit. He...he had a terrible childhood-” Arthur made a little sound of agreement “-and...I don’t know but...” another interminable pause, then, “He’s damaged. He needs someone to love him, but I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to love.” There was  world of pain in those words and i wanted to cry out ‘Yes! Yes I love  _ you _ !’ but it was as though some unseen force held me still and quiet, so maybe, in the end, Gareth was right. 

“Oh I wouldn’t worry, Gareth,” murmured Arthur, “He can love.” Oh bless him. “He’s just bad at showing it, and terribly afraid of being hurt.” Never mind. 

“Has he been hurt before?”

“Not exactly, but...his was not a loving family...”

“I know,” said Gareth significantly, no doubt thinking of everything  I had told him last night. 

“Did he tell you about his sister?”

Oh  _ fuck _ . 

“No. I didn’t know he had a sister...”

“Yes. Lilian. I don’t know much - I’m frankly surprised that he told me as much as he did - but I know that they were very close. They were,in fact, twins. I think she may have been the only one in his family that cared about him...Anyway, when they were just thirteen their father gave her - sold her - in marriage to an old duke he owed a favor. She died in childbirth a year later.” Gareth made a strangled noise, but Arthur wasn't done. “He feels very deeply. I don’t know if you’ve realized that yet, and few people would even believe me, but it’s true. Lancelot feels more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s vulnerable. That’s why he closes himself off as he does.”

It was painful to hear that. It was true, but I didn’t even like to admit it to myself, so hearing someone else voice it aloud was downright painful. I wished I could go back to sleep. 

“I...I wondered...” said Gareth very quietly. Oh really, Gareth? We might need to talk about this later. 

Suddenly, a hand touched my shoulder and Gareth’s lips brushed my forehead. What is it with him and doing that? I opened my eyes slowly, blinking until my vision cleared. “Sorry to wake you,” said my lover - will I ever get used to thinking of him like that? - “Arthur wants to talk to you.” 

“‘s okay,” I mumbled, pretending to be just a bit more muddled than I actually was. 

“Can I get you anything?”

“Not now...” I turned my head and smiled tiredly at Arthur, “What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Like hell,” I replied promptly, “I feel like a used dishcloth and I want to sleep for a week.” 

Gareth gave a surprised little laugh at that. I don’t think he had ever encountered my pathetic sense of humor before. Arthur rolled his eyes playfully. “Well I suppose I’ll have to let you rest up for a bit...especially since you didn’t get much of a chance last night.”

I choked on nothing and poor Gareth flushed deeply. “Now, now,” scolded Guinevere, appearing in the doorway, “Be nice to them, Arthur.” 

“I wasn’t being  _ mean... _ ” he protested weakly, but Guin silenced him with a deep kiss. Gareth flushed again and cleared his throat. 

Smiling, the Queen drew back and moved to my bedside. “How are you this morning, love?” she asked, stroking my face gently. Now it was Gareth’s turn to choke on air. I smiled comfortingly up at him. 

“You don’t need to look like that, Gareth,” I told him.

He just sank down onto the foot of the bed and sighed, “I don’t know what to make of you three...” 

“Poor thing,” murmured Guin with a little laugh, reaching over and tousling his hair, “We must confuse you badly.” Gareth nodded tiredly, not even protesting at being treated a bit like a child. “I promise you, I’m not going to steal Lance from you; he’s all yours! I just enjoy having someone around...” Guin paused and considered, “I  love Lance like a brother and it’s  _ wonderful _ to be around a man who I know will never want to be more than a friend to me.”

“I can understand that,” said Gareth slowly, “I just...It’s going to take some getting used.” His mouth quirked in a half smile. “And maybe I’m a tad jealous.” We all laughed a bit at that. 

*  *  *  *

For the next few days I found myself confined almost entirely to my bed, partly by my injury and partly by the insistence of Gaius, Arthur, and the others that I rest and recover ‘properly’. The wound on my side was worse than I had originally realized and sitting or standing for any period of time left me lightheaded and in a great deal of pain, which made it hard to argue with their assessment of my need for rest. 

Gareth took good care of me, and the time alone proved a blessing in that it allowed us the chance get used to our new relationship. Or rather, it gave  _ me  _  a chance to get used to the idea of  _ having  _ a relationship that was, at its root, based on something other than fealty. I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it; I felt like I was walking on peat, never sure if it was going to hold my weight or collapse and leave me with no support. I trusted Gareth. I had told him that I trusted him and I did. The catch was, trust for me had always meant trusting someone physically; as a soldier (a knight really is just a glorified soldier) I had plenty of experience putting my life in the hands of my companions, and what requires more trust than that? But I had virtually no experience trusting someone with my heart, so I wasn’t entirely sure that I trusted Gareth in that sense, and I wasn’t sure I ever could. But I tried, I really did. I relaxed into his gentle ministrations and did actually find myself enjoying the sensation of letting someone else worry and take care of things. 

Gareth certainly did his best to keep my days from being boring, and to prove his interest in me. We talked a great deal and I learned more about his family, a somewhat happier one than mine. He managed to get me to tell stories about my time in the army with Arthur - although I flatly refused to elaborate on certain parts of that relationship - and about the early days of the Round Table. When we weren’t talking we were...enjoying ourselves. Gareth was more patient and gentle than any man should ever have to be, and between the two of us and a little creativity we managed. Although it probably didn’t speed my recovery any. 

Arthur and Guinevere visited, though not too often for they were busy and they understood - perhaps better than we did - that we needed to be alone. However we still began to irk each other after a time. Gareth may have been patient but I was most certainly not. After several days of being babied and coddled I had had more than enough. 

Gareth entered carrying a tray of food and chattering about some minor disaster in the kitchens involving flour and an unfortunate (and clumsy) page. I really wasn’t in the mood and scowled darkly in his direction. Unfortunately, Gareth had long since lost any fear of me, so he just ignored the expression. He was still chuckling as he made to help me sit up.

“Enough!” I snapped, “I’m not an old woman and I don’t need your help to move!”

“What you are is ungrateful!” Gareth retorted, eyes flashing. 

Honestly, he had a point there, even I could see that. For the last day or so I had been increasingly short tempered as well as sullen and generally unagreeable while poor Gareth had maintained his patient and cheerful demeanor. Not that I  was about to admit to this. 

“I’m bored,” I complained, “It’s been years since I was laid up for this long and never when I’ve been conscious the whole time. I’m  _ not _ hurt  _ that _ badly. Either I’m old or I’m not, make up your fucking mind!” 

Gareth threw his hands up in defeat. “Oh Jesus Christ, we are  _ not  _ having that argument again!” In a harsh tone he added, “Eat your damn lunch. I’ve got better places to be.” And with that he left, slamming the door behind him with what I’m sure was a very satisfying  _ thud _ . 

I lay very still, staring at the closed door for what felt like a long time. My anger faded quickly, leaving me feeling hollow and very, very alone.  _ Oh god, oh god, what have I  _ done _...?  _

Moving as quickly as I was able - too quickly, for I felt something pull and pop in my side - I got out of bed and tried to stand. It took a moment for me to get my feet under me and catch my breath. The pain was terrible, but I ignored it as completely as I was able. The central living space was empty, but the door to Arthur’s study was open, so I made my way, very slowly, that direction. By the time I put my head into the room I was distinctly dizzy. But - thank God! - Gareth was there. Arthur was sitting at his desk and Gareth stood before him. He seemed to be speaking, but I couldn’t hear past the relief and the pain. 

“Gareth.” My voice was tight and strangled sounded. He turned sharply and I took a step forward - or tried to. The room tilted oddly and my vision swam and dimmed. I  stumbled, but strong, familiar arms caught me and lowered me carefully to the floor. 

“Lance. Oh Lance, I’m so sorry...” murmured Gareth, holding me gently. I opened my mouth to tell him it was all my fault, but before I could he gasped, “My god, you’re bleeding!” 

Arthur muttered something about leaving to fetch a physician, but we both ignored him completely. I caught Gareth’s hand and said, “I shouldn’t have-” but got no further because he kissed me deeply. 

“You are so sweet,” he whispered, twining his fingers in my hair, “I’m not going to disappear because we have one spat, Lancelot. It doesn’t work that way.” I smiled up at him and he kissed me again. 

Thank God Arthur knocked before ushering Gaius into the room. As it was, he smirked at me upon seeing that Gareth had already unlaced my shirt. I glared back, daring him to say something. Gaius, on the other hand, shook his head despairingly and asked, “How on Earth have you managed to tear those stitches  _ twice _ in four days?” I was half tempted to tell him it was all Gareth’s fault, but that didn’t seem quite fair, so I kept my mouth shut. The physician sighed and continued, “Sir Gareth, my lord, I am going to have to restitch the wound again and I don’t want him walking, so if you would be so kind, would you please help him back to his room?”

I started to grumble, but Arthur fixed me with a  _ look _  and threatened, “One word out of you, Lancelot, and I will tell Gaius that you need to be under his care constantly until he considers you healed. Of course, that would mean you would have to stay in the infirmary....” I quickly swallowed the rest of my complaint. Living under Gaius’ eye, unable to be alone with Gareth, would be an exquisite form of torture. I made a mental note that Arthur was going to pay for that the next time we sparred. 

Before they made any attempt to move me, Gaius once again drugged me with pain medicine. Normally I would have hated that, but I knew I would be in the hands of two men I trusted with my life, Arthur and Gareth, so I just let it happen. By the time the medicine took effect a few minutes later, I knew that I  _ wouldn’t _ be walking anywhere even if I wanted to. Even lying down the world swam unsteadily before my eyes. On the bright side, there was very little pain when Gareth and Arthur helped me to my feet and supported my weight. However after only a few steps it became clear that even with their help I couldn’t stay upright - I couldn’t even keep my eyes open. 

Distantly, I heard Arthur make a little noise in the back of his throat. A moment later, his arm slipped around the shoulders and the other behind my knees and he simply picked me up as though I were a child. It felt rather nice, actually, and it was something Gareth would never have been able to manage....Gareth. What must he think of this situation, especially given what he knew of my past with Arthur? 

The world slipped away for a time and when I struggled back to semi-consciousness I was lying in my bed. Gaius was leaning over me, placing stitches in my side, and Arthur was holding my shoulders firmly, presumably to keep me still. I didn’t think it necessary, but when did anybody ever bother to ask my opinion? I turned my head slightly and caught a glimpse of Gareth hovering near the doorway. He looked unhappy, but in my current state I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why. 

I woke briefly several more times that night and each time it was Arthur sitting beside me. I assumed that he had told Gareth to get some sleep and thought no more of it until morning when I finally came back to myself and found Gareth sitting beside me, looking at me with a terrible sadness in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” I asked immediately, though I didn’t move to comfort him. I had  _ no  _ intention of pulling those stitches again. 

“Who am I kidding?” he said quietly, “A king loves you, Lancelot. I can’t compete with that.” 

I stammered for a moment before managing a strangled, “Where the hell did  _ that  _ come from?” 

“He sat with you  _ all night _ , Lance. And you should have seen the look on his face...” Gareth sounded almost angry, but his expression was closer to confused. 

“He cares about me,” I acknowledged, “But not like  _ that _ .” Gareth clearly didn’t believe me, so I tried again. I  _ had  _ convinced him that he was wrong. I couldn’t lose him now. “Gareth, listen to me. Arthur and I are close, yes, we’ve lived together and relied upon each other for too long not to be.  _ But _ Guin is his soulmate, you know that. He may worry about me, but you’re hardly  _ competing _ with him!” 

“Really?” He sounded so small and hopeful that I nearly broke down and cried. 

Instead, I said firmly, “Of course!” He blinked at me and snuffled pathetically. I held out my head to him, and when he took it I pulled him down onto the bed beside me and wrapped one arm firmly around him. He could have gotten away if he tried, but not without hurting both of us at least a bit. I turned my head slightly and growled into his ear. “You are not getting rid of me that easily, kid.”

Gareth giggled into my shoulder, a properly adorable sound, and protested, “Don’t call me kid!”

“Oh, then what should I call you?” Judging by the noise he made in the back of his throat, Gareth was stumped by that one. I smiled and whispered a suggestion: “How about  _ mine _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is (at least in my mind and in one of my notebooks) more to this story. I'm going to try to type/edit/post it, but my life is scheduled to get very busy in the near future so we will see how that goes. 
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos/comments are love ; )

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and prompts welcome!


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